Heaven for One
by kjollar
Summary: John Constantine assumed that Baltazar was just another half-breed. But when dealing with demons one must remember that what is seen is generally not what really is. BaltazarXConstantine SLASH. Baltazar-centric, AU-ish. Based solely on the movie.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is basically a long one-shot which I divided into parts due to very slow translation process from my original language. It is really quite a deviation from my normal style of writing (especially the present tense).

I apologize for all the mistakes and weird sounding phrases. Please bear with me: it's my first time translating my work in english.

This story mostly deals with the timeline before and after the actual movie action, and I intentionally changed some things, but mostly used the fact that creators didn't elaborate on Baltazar's background.

The scenery of the part of Hell made for sinners' punishment is hideous as always. Blackened ruins and fields burned to the ground are such an unwelcome sight that I just want to turn around and let someone else do my duty this time. I generally prefer human world to being here. Even other parts of Hell are preferable to this disgusting parody of my favorite plane of existence.

I'm floating above pseudo-New York trying to find my target and not snag my pants on some piece of rubble protruding from the surrounding dump. My only consolation is that all my business is on the surface: the most foul and disgusting things are all underground and I wouldn't go down there even if Satan himself ordered me to.

At last I see the reason for my venturing here: there is a rusty battered ambulance crawling along the road to the "city". Skeletal figures with parts of their heads missing – demon soldiers – creep around it. They bow deferentially when I land on its' roof. I don't even try to cover my disgust.

Inside I meet a demon of higher rank – it a least has a whole head and more or less defined features.

"Milord came to deliver the verdict?" he rasps from his crouched position.

I glance at the second resident of the ambulance. It's a young man, almost a boy, with prominent cheekbones and sharp features, and long tangled hair dark with sweat. He is tied to the bed with wide leather bands and the blood is unendingly dripping from his cut wrists and seeping though cracks in the floor. His eyes are surprisingly sane for a man between life and death. He looks at me with a disturbing mix of inconsolable grief and absurd hope. It seems he understands that it is for me to decide whether he will return to the human world of will forever remain in this nightmare.

"Who is he?" I ask. It is hard to break from his stare.

"Medium, milord. Probably exorcist."

Poor child… It's not in my nature to commiserate with sinners but this almost extinct brood deserves my sympathy. In all times those who saw what others could not were treated with distrust and caution. But in the middle ages there were more of them and there was still a chance that they would be called saints and not sorcerers. But now this boy had ahead of him a life of constant solitude and fear of unknown and dangerous creatures roaming among humans. Or a charming alternative of a white room with barred windows and daily dose of tranquilizers.

But this boy in his desire to run from a known nightmare landed himself in one much more sinister. And in doing so destroyed his only way to escape it even after death. In this time when humans believe that they know the secrets of the universe much better than in Middle Ages there is little thought of salvation. And there was no one near the boy to explain the consequence of slitting one's veins.

I slide a finger along the wrist closest to me and rub the dark red liquid between the pads of my fingers. Even in Hell among the smells of sulphur and burnt iron I can feel the faint copper of blood. The fragrance of life in this kingdom of eternal dying.

I put my bloodied hand on the boys forehead damp with perspiration and say the standard phrase.

"In violating the God's covenants you reject the privileges bestowed on you by the sacrifice of The Son. Before the Heavens you are proclaimed dead and sentenced to eternal torment of Inferno."

Gray eyes which followed me with the same mix of hope and hopelessness close, and two silvery drops run form the corners of his eyes to the temples.

"What is your name?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.

The pale lips move.

"John," he whispers. So he does see and hear everything. Poor child…

"Hell gives you a chance, John. You will return to the world of living and continue with your life. But you will remember what awaits you upon your death. Now go."

The body begins to fade before my eyes. In the last moment gray eyes open again and pale lips form words "thank you".

Silly boy. You shouldn't thank me for the torment to which I condemned you. To live every day with the thoughts of the horrors waiting you after death and with the knowledge of their inevitability…

The convoy demon is still half bowed and I'm not certain if he moved at all for the duration of my presence. Without a word I disappear from the punishment section still smelling of burnt iron and garbage.

Perhaps I should forget for a time about my archdemon responsibilities and travel to my favorite plane of existence. World of living is changing rapidly and one risks loosing understanding of humankind if one stays away for too long. Understanding, which is a key part of our work.

And this way I will get a chance to once again see an unfortunate child with gray eyes by the name of John, medium and probable exorcist.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sitting on a hard chair in a bleak hospital room with walls soaked in humans' pain and suffering. In the years spent in the world of living I've visited hospitals quite a few times. The reason – always the same one – is a medium and successful exorcist John Constantine, who occupies the only bed before me.

From the boy I've returned to life more than ten years ago he turned into a man, having lost none of the frail tragic nature that surrounded him the first time we've met. He gets in unpleasant situations much more often than an average man. A lot is due to his line of work but definitely not everything. After committing a deadly sin human is stripped of his guardian angel and becomes virtually defenseless before supernatural enemies and simple coincidences.

John is pale and motionless. His hands with long elegant fingers lay above the covers. His face even in unconsciousness is lined with fatigue and worry.

His guardian angel wasn't worth him anyway. If I knew who was given a responsibility of guarding his soul I would have found him and ripped his wings off. No, I would have plucked all his feathers one by one so he would suffer more. Can I be considered a guardian demon? Is there even a position like that, at least in theory?

I hadn't intervened in his live openly yet: his will to live helped him get though some tough situations. But if the need arises…

I don't want to analyze what is it about him that draws me in. I just want to look after him, make sure he is in no danger. Maybe it's just an almost omnipotent archdemon's fancy. And maybe it's the way real guardian angels feel… Pity there's no one to ask.

Oh well, we actually meet with John not only in hospital wards. (Though one can hardly call a meeting the situation when one of the participants is unconscious.) I'm good looking, rich, successful; deal in floater and hostile takeovers. Moreover, I'm arrogant and insolent and have I been someone else I would have probably been disgusted with myself. He thinks I'm a ordinary half-breed – a low ranking demon sent to seduce people into evil.

Funny that some time in the past it was exactly what I have been doing though I was never all that low in the ranking. But now the "seduction" is not needed anymore. To get a soul we just need to sit back and don't disturb the natural process. Even the purest souls are corrupted without any notice or consideration of the consequences of seemingly innocent actions.

Heavens should really adjust the list of misdeeds punished by Hell or they risk a demographic crisis.

Demons became so bold they don't even try to conceal the fact of possession. And here enters my young exorcist. He has enough power but cannot use it fully, impeded by considering it a curse. He is reckless and still believes that he can earn forgiveness like this. And he smokes too much for his age. Any age really.

I get up from my chair and come to the bed. Turn the hand closest to me. The transversal scar is almost invisible against the pale wrist. John, like the majority of children, haven't thought that it would have been more effective to cut along the vein.

I wonder what he would say if he knew that an irritating half-breed is in fact the same demon who brought him back to life and than followed him upwards? I come to the hospital only when he is unconscious because I don't want to know. Not yet.

I force my scattered thoughts into order and send them to the back of my mind. In a few hours I'm meeting my current business partner – my future financial victim. Then I will be calm and composed knowing my _almost charge_ is in no danger.

***

"…_Hey, John. You had a visitor yesterday, while you were unconscious. It was a man, he said you've met in your line of work."_

"_Really?" doubting. "What did he look like?"_

"_Medium height, light hair, dark eyes, expensive suit. I didn't know you are so close to millionaires to get visits on your sickbed."_

"_I don't have millionaire friends," gloomily, not wanting to prolong a joke._

"_Hey, you know, I think he came the other time too. Remember, when you were pushed down the stairs? Maybe he's your guardian angel?" teasing, with a touch of curiosity. _

"_I don't have one."_

Thank you for reading.

If you like the story so far, please, drop a line so I would know I should continue translating.

And if you are dissatisfied, than I count on your compassion and tact to spare me from heartbreak of reading your flames. :)


	3. Chapter 3

_***_

Finally it comes to this, the moment I've been expecting and dreading since we first met. I'm once again sitting at his sickbed, figuratively speaking. Although the much-more-than-king-sized bed John's laying in belongs to me.

No will to live will save you when you are falling from the 19th floor counting all the protruding structures on your way down… if you don't have a guardian demon. Of course I could have fixed him up and left him in the capable hands of the doctors with firm grip on reality, who would have dreamed up a plausible explanation of his miraculous recovery.

But no… This time I want him to know who saved his life. Even though he will draw wrong conclusions from it.

He awakens slowly, as if he doesn't believe he cheated death again. Or maybe he's afraid to see the burning wasteland of Hell. The moment he understands that he is still alive his face visibly relaxes.

And he tenses right up when his eyes focus on me.

"You!" he's on the offensive from the start, "What are you doing here?"

I pointedly sweep my bedroom with a slow gaze, giving him time to take everything in and to realize that it's not his home or even a hospital.

"Me?" I'm all innocence, "I live here."

He obviously wants to ask what's _he_ doing here than but his pride gets in the way. At least for this exact wording.

"Why the hell have you brought me here?"

A question I'm not going to answer. I shake my head reproachfully.

"Is it really a way to address a person who saved your life?"

A new pause for taking in what was said. The exorcist's fire dies down.

"What happened?"

"You tell me. All I saw was a spectacular ending: 'John Constantine trains for angel' with a noticeable absence of wings. If you don't mind me saying, your dive was impressive but landing was a bit… crumpled."

"Why have you saved me?"

He isn't questioning what have I been doing near the house where exorcism took place. Maybe he haven't thought about it yet or maybe he automatically assumed I've been watching him for my own evil purposes.

"I like you."

My almost charge goes into a bit of a stupor. Taking pity on him I speak on.

"I do not approve of Heaven's rules, and helping you undermines their authority, at least a little. Also, I find you quite entertaining… and we really need someone to curb the population of low level imps in the world of the living."

His lips are a frigidly straight line. I can just see all the reasons trying to line up in his head.

"And that's all?"

"That is all." I nod coolly. "I have no reason to lie, your soul is already ours after all."

I don't want to remind him of this sad circumstance but there isn't a better argument for my sincerity. He winces and looks at the door.

"What are you going to do next?" 'with me' is an unvoiced end of the question.

"Nothing," I shrug. "You are free to go anytime you want. I'll even walk you to the door. And lend you a suit: yours' isn't fit to wear anymore, I'm afraid."

I'm waiting for accusations of ridicule and mockery but this situation is apparently too surreal for standard reactions.

In accordance to my words I enter my walk-in closet and find a dark blue suit with thin gray stripes, a gray shirt and, after a short contemplation, a matching necktie.

"Be my guest." I put the clothes at the foot of the bed and leave my bedroom.

He exits shortly: it appears he wants to leave my presence and get himself out of an awkward situation as soon as possible. I'm a bit wider in shoulders but the suit still looks pretty good on him. Midnight blue is really his color.

But if I were to be fair he doesn't look all that well. Constant stress plus unhealthy way of life plus working irregular hours equals chronic tiredness and ruined health. I mercilessly strangle a desire to simply lock him away and shield him from his mess of a life.

I walk him to the door, open it and gesture for him to leave with exaggerated courtesy.

"Oh, and by the way, when exorcising stay away from the windows. I hear possessed are generally very strong and are prone to flailing."

"I noticed," he mutters darkly. I grin. "But still, why have you done it?"

"I already told you." I shrug.

"You're insane," he scourges up the remnants of his anger.

"It's said that genius and insanity are but two sides of a coin," I intone.

Understanding that he won't be speaking the last word he silently calls the elevator standing demonstratively with his back to me.

I wait till it's doors are almost closed before speaking.

"Hey, John," he turns around, "I'm rooting for you."

***


	4. Chapter 4

A visit to one's flat at half past two in the night is in itself highly unexpected. For me it is all the more so because no one visits me at other times as well. But I'm more surprised still when upon opening the door I see John, a bit disheveled and not a bit drunk.

"Good evening," I say neutrally. I don't know what to expect from an inebriated exorcist. He might as well douse me with holy water, and recreation of a glamour is a tiresome and time consuming process.

"There is nothing good about my life by definition," he replies much more eloquently than I expected and pushes past me into the flat.

"Do you have a particular reason for libation or is it a regular pity-party?" I inquire entering my sitting-room where he is already sprawled in one of the chairs.

"It's my birthday."

"Is it? Congratulations," my reply is automatic.

Strange, but in all this time I watch over him it never even occurred to me to find out this date. What good would it be to me? I certainly wouldn't have sent him anonymous gifts…

"No need," he mumbles moodily, dropping his head on the back of the chair. "I would have been better off not being born at all."

"Why so gloomy? Even taking into account your less then spectacular prospects you are still young and have a lot of years ahead of you…"

"What's the use? I don't have any chances because as it happens all the good I'm doing is just a way to worm into Heavens good graces in order to spare myself a fate to which I'm already condemned by my actions."

The second part of his speech is definitely a citation. I could make a fairly educated guess as to the source of it.

"I see," I speak more to myself than to him and go to the kitchen to make coffee.

Theoretically faith exists to support you in your hour of need. When everything is against you, you still know that He looks upon you in His infinite mercy and you can find consolation in His benevolent presence. You do not believe in Him to have a kind angel constantly whisper that you are an outcast whose forgiveness is forever refused.

Motive was always more important to Him than action itself. But He is too stern to his children: there is hardly a simpleton who has only one reason for any significant action. When exorcising John of course expects in some corner of his mind to atone for his sin but I watch him long enough to know that he would have done in regardless. He will never refuse his help to those in need of it, Heaven's verdict or not.

The root of this problem is that He thinks only Himself to have a right to control people's lives. A decision to end one's life is punished most severely as an attempt to wrestle this control from Him. John knows that his sin condemned him to Hell but he's not exactly remorseful for trying to take his life in his own hands. Yes, he is far from forgiveness…

When I return to the sitting-room I find John in a curious if a bit unfocused examination of the room. I have to admit that high-tech style wasn't really my choice. If I recall correctly my exact words to my designer were "do whatever". At that time I was very busy studying financial operations and could not be bothered to choose the height at which plug sockets should be installed. I'm proud of my calm acceptance of multitudes of fancifully curved pieces of metal protruding from various parts of my apartment. My designer was an artist after all so he wasn't destined for Heaven by definition. Fortunately my bedroom was spared this over-modernization: there was hardly anything except a bed and a wardrobe.

"Want some coffee?" I put one of the cups on a partially-transparent table. John eyes it suspiciously without a slightest movement toward it. "Should I take a first sip?" I suggest lowering myself onto a sofa and putting a saucer on an armrest.

"You know, I understand now why people are seduced by evil," he says with a thoughtful air and at last takes a little sip. "If angels spew vitriol at you and demons save your live and treat you to coffee you are forced to reconsider your beliefs…"

"Gabriel is just an arrogant smug upstart considering himself the only true judge of human sins," despite his appearance I'm hardly able to apply female gender to an archangel. John it seems overlooks it entirely. "Having lived ten years among men he never tried to truly understand them. If he believes that our world can be divided into Good and Evil as easily as in the times of Great War than it's his problem alone."

"What did she do to you to ruffle your feathers so?" he asks impressed by my passionate speech.

I'm vividly reminded of all the times I've met Gabriel when he was an archangel and I – archdemon. I sigh. What the Hell is he doing among men anyway? I bet he just heard about my appearance here and came running to monitor me.

John thinks he is a half-breed like me. It's better this way: unpleasantries become much more unpleasant if spoken by and archangel, and he has a lot of issues without them.

"So, have you come here straight form church?" I change the topic.

"Well, I've visited a couple of nice places between now and then, but basically yes". He puts away the empty cup and braces his head on the headrest. "You were my last hope for compassion. After all it would have been so sad if I hadn't been able to find an ally on any side of the conflict."

"If you're allying yourself with demons it's high time for you to rest."

"Is it a polite way to say I should piss off?" he tries to stand.

I'm amazed anew that he's so articulate when he has no control over his limbs.

"I don't know how you've managed to get here, but I sure as Hell won't let you go in this state."

Ignoring his feeble attempts to resist I escort him to the bedroom and put him on the bed. After some rummaging for pajamas I put it near him.

"Be my guest."

I can understand that he's passing through I-hate-Heaven stage, and thus feels a certain affinity to me as It's antagonist, but still it's not a reason enough to just silently change and get under the covers. I'm not complaining of course, but it's still strange…

The objections come up pretty quickly, though their topic is a little unexpected.

"Why are you preparing to lay in the same bed?"

"Perhaps because it's mine?" I shrug. "Sorry, but I don't usually have overnight visitors, so I don't have a guest room. And my designer was adamantly against sofas," I add after a bit of consideration.

"Well, then, I can sleep on the floor…"

"What for?…"

This question obviously stumps him. He is silent for a moment, probably considering his options, and then growls warningly:

"Bare in mind, if you even attempt to touch me…"

"For me to not be able to touch you, you have to bathe in holy water every morning," I snap back. No matter the circumstance, he is still an exorcist – always willing to think the worst of a demon. "But you can rest easy. I'm not going to hurt you."

"If you say so…" he mumbles compliantly and, turning his back to me, drops into sleep.

I lie in bed contemplating his silhouette in the gloom. I think about the wording he chose. 'Touch him…' Before I haven't thought that my interest in him can have a physical aspect. After all, I'm a spirit only temporarily vested with flesh, all physical is secondary for me. I thought it is enough that I can see him, feel his presence and know that he is safe.

But now… now my mind turns to how could it be to touch him, embrace him… hold him to myself and never let go.

He is beautiful. His face, even fatigued, retains an elegant harmony of features. His soul – a soul of a fragile boy with never healing scars on the wrists – beacons me stronger, but I can not deny the attraction of his body… And now, when I'm thinking of it, I can easily imagine us together.

Luckily as a demon I don't have to worry about a sin of sodomy.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks to all who keep reading my story. In the next part we'll hopefully get to some interesting action _:P

_Special thanks goes to __**Fenikkusu Ai **__for the explicitly expressed support (wow, such a sophisticated way to say thank you for the review _^_^_)_

***

I'm sitting on an armrest of a chair in my living room and feed sedatives to distraught John. In the last couple of years his visits turned into something of a tradition. He comes rarely and only when he is upset. But I'm content with that. I see him at his most vulnerable which means he doesn't count me as his enemy.

"It's my fault they're dead," he says, gulping down water from the glass I've offered. His hands are shaking and he obviously yearns for a smoke, but he won't do it in my flat. "I just don't understand how this could have happened. I've carried out the ritual and it appeared that the demon was properly exorcised." He hangs his head and tangles his fingers in dark hair. "But today in the news they say that the boy slaughtered his whole family including two younger sisters. The youngest was only three and a half." His voice is choked. He obviously tries to fight back tears.

To be honest I don't care one bit for the family, but I can't just calmly watch as he suffers.

"You've just met a cunning demon," I put a hand on his shoulder, "the likes of which don't generally frequent earth. So it's no wonder you fell for his trick. He made you think that he is of a more primitive class and it's a complicated disguise to create."

"But I should have figured it out…"

"Should have?" I repeat bending closer to his ear. "You don't have to do anything. You don't owe it to anyone."

"You don't understand!" he bristles, shakes my hand off and lifts his head. There is pain mixed with anger in his gaze. "I'm an exorcist. It is my duty. If I won't protect them who will?"

I look at him for a moment, unmoving. It is said that eyes are the mirror of one's soul, though I've found them to conceal much more often than reveal anything.

Fortunately, I do not need to look him in the eye, for I am one of the few who have a right to judge. And one look at him is enough to see that his soul is pure. Angels seem to be bent on finding every last little sin to forbid entry to everyone except for totally untainted. But I, who judges the sinners, see the most crucial. If you ask me, he is much more worthy of Heaven then those whose only virtue is not committing a single sin.

"John," I say softly once again lowering my hands to his shoulders, "do you understand, why demons can possess humans?"

"What do you mean?" my unexpected question stirs him from self flagellation he intends to indulge in after his brief flash of anger.

"Demons, despite what majority thinks, do not choose ones with impure souls. It may seem strange, but inner evil often countermines possession; it's easier to create a covenant with them which was a very common occurrence in Middle Ages.

Thus demons search for those whose protection is weak. It's often people of another confession whose godly protectors are too far away. But the deceased were Catholics?" He nods, mesmerized. "Then it means their guardian angel slacks off in his work. Moreover," I continue, "any demonic presence automatically enters Heaven's jurisdiction. Man must not fight alone with powers far greater than his own, don't you agree?"

"But what about trials, temptations…"

"Temptation and possession are completely different. What I do with you may be classified as temptation…" I trail off considering whether I really try to tempt him into anything. John just smirks skeptically: he obviously didn't take my last remark seriously. "That said, in your case the demon was acting really stupid for someone who managed to fool an exorcist. Instead of killing all of the family (who consequently went to Heaven, by the way), it could have concealed itself and worked on temptation and seduction. The Hell would have benefited more from it anyway."

"Maybe it had done it to get at me?" John suggests.

The sedatives are working. He is sprawled in his chair and calmly discusses the incident which half an hour ago was the cause for almost hysterics.

"Everything is possible," I say with a thoughtful air, "But despite your delusions, the world isn't revolving around you."

"Aha. At last you remember that you are supposed to insult me," he smiles, relaxed, "But it's too late. Sorry, but I do not believe in your inherent evilness anymore. And while we are at it, are you sure than you are a demon?"

"It appears the sedatives were too strong. You are delusional," I state.

"Come off it! Demons do not do sympathy, they don't know compassion. They are egotistical, lying and hateful."

I laugh. He is right in a way: the small fry he deals with is like that. But I am more of an angel released from the conventions of Heaven. I am free to act and feel for myself instead of only fulfilling my duty. But to explain it to John will mean giving away too much. So I stay silent.

"Will you ever explain it to me?" he asks as if reading my mind. His voice is no longer accusing. Instead he almost begs.

"Explain what?"

"Why are you doing all this."

He asks this question every time when I attempt to comfort him and rid him of pangs of conscience and weight of responsibility. And every time, without waiting for my reply, he suggests his old and new supposed reasons. Sometimes they are funny, sometimes weird, but other times downright cruel. But this time he is silent, looking imploringly at me from under his lashes.

Today it is that much harder to resist his gaze.

I am saved by the simple fact which is in itself quite disturbing. I cannot say why I help him. It's not that I don't _know_… There are probably no words for my feelings for him. I'm not prone to overanalyzing myself and I'm not going to browse dictionaries to find them. One thing is certain: I don't want him to go to Hell. It will be my little rebellion against Heaven and Hell that forgot about their true purpose and got stuck in this struggle over abstract principles.

I just don't want him to suffer. I'm not an angel to wish the cessation of torment for all humankind (though my angel acquaintances do not show such desires ether). I only want to protect one human from pain.

But even in my thoughts it all sounds absurd, so I'm afraid to imagine what it would be like for John if I try to describe it to him. Although right now he will calmly listen to any nonsense. Still, I'm not going to take that risk.

"You know," he resumes talking when it becomes obvious that I'm not going to answer, "you would make a fine angel. Oh, don't scowl like that. True, you don't like to prattle about God's will, righteousness and peccancy, and all that rot. But my soul gets lighter after speaking with you."

"It's the tranquilizer speaking," I conclude.

He laughs. His laugh is light and carefree. It's a laugh of a man with a certain lightness of the soul.

***

"_Hey, Gab!"_

"_You?!" fastidious scorn. "What are you doing here?"_

"_How impolite of you. Do you know how long I've waited for you to leave your church?"_

"_I do not and I don't want to. Begone to the sulfur smelling hole from which you've crawled."_

"_Oh, Gab, whatever for you've chosen a female guise? You shouldn't add PMS to your temper…" sympathetic head-shake. "It appears John does not exaggerate after all…"_

"_Funny," the fury is barely controlled, "that a reject of Hell complains about me to a demon." _

"_For an angel you are paradoxically misanthropic. But," hands held up in a pacifying gesture, "that is exactly what we have in common."_

"_Don't even dare to suggest, you dirty spawn…"_

"_Wait-wait-wait. Let's not go into matters of lineage. If memory serves, my dear winged friend, we descend from the same origin. But enough of these sad matters. I remember well your spiel on humans' general ungratefulness. You passionate speeches about inability to appreciate the greatest sacrifice of God's Son for humanity's redemption… _

_All right, all right, stop grinding your teeth – the enamel is coming off already. I'll go straight to the point. You think that humankind should be cleansed from the dead weight that prevents them from growing closer to your Lord. I just want to get more souls to burn in Hell. And I have found the solution that will satisfy us both."_

"_If you're going to propose a deal with me…" a low threatening growl._

"_Calm down. No deals. I will only share my idea with you and you will quietly listen to me. So, there is a marvelous way to create Hell on earth…" _

***


	6. Chapter 6

_Marry Christmas to those of my readers who are Catholic, and Happy New Year to all!_

_Special thanks to __**LadyCastiel**__ for her review. Hope you'll like this chapter too._

_This part of the story takes place in-between the scenes from the movie, but can be accommodated with a little stretch of imagination… :)_

_There is some __**non-explicit mature content**__ here, so consider yourself warned :P_

***

John's midnight appearances never bothered me. Quite on the contrary, the more time passed since his last visit the more I waited for the next one.

I'm still awake when the bell rings. I generally went to bed after midnight even before he began to sometimes drop by, but now I deliberately leave all the business for nighttime. After all as a head of my company I'm at a liberty to choose my working hours.

While coming to the door I deliberate on the ways to make him stay the night. (My latest success is a long and involved discussion of ancient and modern ways of exorcising that ended at the dawn). Then I wonder what could have happened to him this time.

"Hi," he's so wet that there is a puddle at the threshold from his coat. I knew that it was raining but didn't really pay attention to it. "I'm going to die soon."

It is said so flippantly that I know: he can break at any moment. Coffee and conversations won't of any help now.

He steps over the threshold, and I embrace him without thought, lightly placing my hands on his waist. He buries his head in my shoulder without moving to return the embrace.

"I don't want to die," he's shivering from cold and, quite possibly, fear. "I just want to live a few moments without this sentence hanging over me. I don't want to go to Hell."

He sounds like a little lost boy. I smile tenderly.

"You are not going to Hell. I promise."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," I reply arrogantly.

He laughs and looks into my eyes.

"Since when your word is the law?"

There is a familiar mix of despair and hope in his eyes, which I remember from the first time we've met. It's been twenty years, and life made a full turn. He is again at the gates of Hell and again I won't let him enter. But he doesn't know it yet.

And when he does, he will hate me.

"I guess it's our last meeting," he says tilting his head, "so I want to thank you for everything you've done for me," he doesn't even try to move away. His hands are resting on my shoulders. He smirks. "Funny that you were the only one who gave a damn about me. I guess distinguished sinners are awarded with guardian demons."

I smile in return. His thoughts are surprisingly similar to my own.

In the next moment his face is absolutely serious again and I tense, ready for anything.

But instead of speaking he leans forward and his lips brush mine.

I grow still. Through this light kiss I feel everything that's on the surface of his soul.

Fear…

His lips grow insistent.

Pain…

He brushes my lips with his tongue. I shiver.

Despair…

"Stop it," I whisper harshly, moving away. But I can't find it in myself to push him away completely. "I won't be your way of proving to yourself that you are still alive."

He looks at me with an intent, searching, unfamiliar eyes. And kisses again.

Plea…

I put my hand back on his waist.

Hope…

I turn my head slightly and open my mouth.

Peace…

"Don't make me tell you something I'm not ready to admit to myself," he whispers, and his breath is tickling my lips.

"Even on the brink of death?"

The mood shifts imperceptibly. Pressing tension shatters leaving a familiar though unexpected air of understanding.

"All the more reason to keep silent. I don't want you laughing at me in the pits of Hell." And suddenly, he is serious again. " I want to spend this night with you. Even if it will be the very last night of my life."

It is my turn to search his eyes. I can understand his ever changing mood a bit and rationalize his desire but…

No buts. Even demon's dreams can come true sometimes.

We move to the bedroom in an imitation of a slow dance. My bed is unmade, laptop sitting dangerously close to the edge of a bedside table.

"Did I interrupt you?"

"No, I was waiting for you."

And he seems to understand. I wait for him every night without knowing but hoping for his arrival. His lips find mine again.

Rustle of clothes.

Rustle of sheets.

His skin is chilled – he spent too much time in the rain – but not for long.

There is no doubt in him - his voice, his eyes, his movements. His desire and mine are one.

His fingers, long slender fingers I admired so often in hospital rooms, tangle with mine. I am able to read souls but now I do not need this gift. He is unreservedly opened to me. And in the moment of our complete union his soul shines brighter than ever.

Demons who cheat men out of their souls do not know how it can be to possess someone who had willingly given himself over. Who accepted you knowing full well who you really are. Who embraced you undeterred by your darkness.

His body responses to the merest touch. He is not perfect but he is beautiful. He's fragile, so breathtakingly fragile… but he can never be broken. He is free but belongs only to me. Only for me he opens the doors into his being.

Everything suddenly makes sense in my world.

I ascend into my personal Heaven.

***

Much later I'm laying in the half-light of dawn breathing in light smell of cigarettes from his hair.

Silly angels generally think that apostates who left with Lucifer secretly yearn for forgiveness and an opportunity to return to Heaven. Paradise is a place where you are in harmony with yourself and the whole world. We left because the Lord's Kingdom wasn't such a place for us anymore.

But angels are right in one thing. Every one of us, even Lucifer, who merged with his mask of absolute evil, dreams of once again finding Heaven.

I've almost forgotten this all consuming peace, this certainty that you are right in everything that are usual for a Heaven. Now I feel it sharper than ever. Perhaps it is because of all the doubts and uncertainty, neatly tucked away in the deepest corner of my mind, of perhaps because I am this Heaven's only inhabitant.

"Are you asleep?"

"No," my reply is equally soft, "why did you wake up?"

"I don't know," his hands tighten their grip on my chest. "This night…" he pauses, anxious or maybe just trying to find the right words, "did it mean anything to you?"

"You can't imagine how much," I answer honestly. He is not ready to know the depths of the change between us. He doesn't even want to admit it to himself.

"Do you think I'll be sent to a different cycle of Hell?" he asks jokingly, trying to cover his apprehension.

"You won't go to Hell."

My wish to save him became quite easy to explain. I won't allow my Heaven to be destroyed.

Although when he finds out what I have done to ensure his safety I'll be cast out from it. But I'm prepared. At least I will know that my Shelter exists and nothing threatens it. Lucifer's wrath is nothing compared to this knowledge.

"Even though I know it's impossible I still want to believe you. I just… want to stay here with you… till the end of time." His words are tinted with wonder and wistfulness.

"Do not be afraid," I lightly touch my lips to his forehead, "everything will be fine."

I could tell him about the Spear of Destiny and a deal with Mammon. But I want to dwell in my Heaven for a little while longer. And so I stave off the moment of banishment.

***

Remember, reviews warm the author's heart :)


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi there, my faithful readers. I've recently re-watched "Constantine", so for those who like to conform to canon I note that the previous chapter in my semi-AU should be considered as a substitute for a scene where John first comes to Midnight's club :P_

_This chapter a rewriting of John's and Balthazar's last meeting. As you've noticed, they both don't really clash with the rest of the story, so all the canon events happened exactly as in the movie :)_

_As always, many thanks to my reviewers and those, who consider my story good enough to add it to their favourites and alerts._

***

I'm waiting for him. I know that he will come today. And it's not even that I followed all the events and was witness to the deaths of those who he thought comrades if not friends. I feel his approach as if he is a missing part of me, the one part that completes my being. Actually, that is exactly what he is to me…

But our meeting will be the last for a very long time. Mammon isn't very clever, and believes that I have motives other than those I've disclosed to him. So he will try to get rid of me, send me back to Hell, where my arrival is certainly awaited with great anticipation. Lucifer must be furious by now, so my punishment will be at lest several centuries long.

Oh well, I've been ready for it since the moment I decided to orchestrate an early Apocalypse. The only thing that matters is that He will be safe: Mammon will not be able to break his oath no matter how much he struggles.

John's arrival is flashy if a little unorthodox. The glass, scorched by dragon's breath, melts but I'm not harmed by the blast.

"You filthy underworld scum, hypocrite, traitor," John tries to unleash all the anger, resentment and pain that were brewing in his soul since we last met. "All this time you've pretended to be my friend, you made me believe…" his voice hitches and he tightens the hold on his strange weapon. "Why? Why did you stage all this farce? What use was my trust to you? Or did you want to mock me? Crush all the joy I've left?"

"John, stop." I know that he won't believe anything I say now, but I just cant bear to see him torturing himself over what he perceives as the ultimate betrayal. His presence is like a magnet and I step towards him against my will. One step, then another, and I draw his weapon aside. He watches me as if mesmerized without trying to resist. "I don't want to lose you," I finally say, having considered and discarded dozens of possible explanations. "I'm a demon and my methods are far from what you consider virtuous. But you will understand my actions in time. And you will hate me all the more for it, though I want your hate less than anything in this world. I don't want to be banished again." My words obviously don't make any sense to him anymore, but I say them mostly to myself by this point, trying to justify my actions for the thousands' time.

And than I kiss him. His lips are as soft and sweet as before, and I hasten to use every last opportunity to dwell in my Heaven. He answers me mindlessly as if he isn't quite in control of his body.

In the next moment a vial of holy water smashes against my face. In my moment of distraction he adds a blow with a knuckle-duster to the already damaged cheek, and I fall back on the table in the middle of my office.

This water is tricky indeed. It doesn't stop at destroying my first glamour hiding the appearance of a common half-breed demon, it peels off the second one, baring my true face.

His hand stills, suspended for the next blow. I let both masks melt away from me and watch as his surprise morphs into dim recognition.

His eyes open wide and he steps back instinctively.

"Y-you," he stutters, unable to articulate his epiphany.

"Me?" I prompt.

"You… It was you, back in Hell," he gets out finally. "It was you who let me return."

"Yes."

"Who are you?"

"I am Balthazar, bearer of Measure. Although mortals know very little of Hell's hierarchy. I'm one of those who determine the cycle and level to which new souls are sent."

"But… I thought than Heavens decide that," he says, confused. The original purpose of his arrival if temporarily forgotten in the face of this unexpected revelation.

"They don't have time for it," I shrug, straightening up. "They just stamp 'guilty/not guilty', leaving all the dirty work to us."

"Then how did you manage to return me?"

"Easy. From the moment your soul fell under Hell's jurisdiction we've got the right to do with it as we please. That includes sending you back to the mortal realm."

"But why did you do it?"

"I wanted to give you one more chance."

"Why?"

"For purely selfish reasons."

No matter how I feel about him, I'm not going to bare my soul. Our separation will be quite painful as it is.

He obviously doesn't know how to interpret my answer. And understands that I wont be saying anything further.

He tries to rub his forehead with the hand still adorned with the knuckle-duster, and that jolts his thoughts to his original task.

"What is your interest in the coming of Mammon? I know you have a part in it so there is no point in denying."

"I'm not going to explain. You'll take it the wrong way."

"At least tell me what method can Mammon use to enter the mortal realm?"

"I wont."

"I hate you!" he savagely smashes his fist in my face. "Why are you doing it? What are you trying to pull? What's my part in all of this?"

"You will understand in due time," I answer calmly, not trying to defend against his blows.

"Why did you come to Earth in a guise of a common half-breed? What's with all the rescuing, talking and the rest…?"

"Can't you guess?" I smile, though a bit crookedly.

"Demons are not capable of love," he says with conviction.

"_Demons_ aren't," I agree. I doubt he notices the emphasis.

"Stop mocking me!" he rages. "I don't give a damn for who you are, what you are doing here and what your purposes are. Just give me the method that Mammon will use to enter this world!"

His words sting, though I thought myself prepared for harsh rejection.

"Fine," I spit out, not sparing a glance to the barrel of his strange weapon trained at my head. The Harbinger is near so there is no point in prolonging this painful encounter. "He needs a powerful medium. Actually, your little friend which you've conveniently brought with you, will do nicely."

It's hard to meet his eyes: in them I see anger, hurt and, worst of all, badly concealed grief. The Gates of my Heaven are closed to me now.

"No matter what you've planned, it will not work," he declares, and there is a world of betrayal in his words. "Go back to Hell, you bastard!"

The pointblank shot gives my some relief.

I patently wait for the Harbinger.

"Medium is in this building," I inform him. "Our bargain still stands. Protect him, don't let him return to Hell."

There is bewilderment in he Harbinger's eyes. Mammon obviously thought that death from John's hand will change my desires. Demons born in Hell are depraved of much indeed.

In the last moments before my spirit separates from the mortal flesh I smugly think that now my John will be safe no matter the outcome of this debacle.

***

_Don't w__orry, this isn't the end of my story. I'm all for happy endings :P_

_The next installment will probably be last, so stay tuned._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Hello, my dear readers. I'm sad to say that this is the final part of my story. It actually covers several events, but they really shouldn't be separated. _

_Once again I thank my reviewers and all those who put my __**Heaven for One **__in favorites and alerts._

_So, enjoy. (Oh, there is some __**really non-explicit mature content **__– you can miss it if you blink _:P_)_

***

"_Hey, Luc."_

"_Balthazar. What a surprise! And here I thought you fly too high for us now."_

"_Come on, don't tell my you're offended…"_

"_Offended… Oh, if only you were still under me…" significant pause full of malicious intent. Then a head-shake. "How did you manage to pull this off?"_

"_It's my little professional secret. But I've actually flew by here not just to show off my new position. We need to discuss some things."_

"_Is that so?" affected surprise, "And what brought you to this hydrogen sulphide smelling place again?"_

"_Don't be a smartass, Luc. This talk is long overdue, but I've been silent before because I couldn't suggest anything constructive. Do you still remember what started in all, Luc? What we wanted before we were forced into this position of eternal evil, that stuck to us so tightly that we forgot everything else? For so many centuries we've been the jailers for those whom we yearned to give the freedom of choice…" an imploring look. "Now we finally have a chance to change it all."_

_The drawn-out silence is half surprised, half amused. _

"_And here I thought that you were simply head over heels for that boy."_

_A penetrating glare with a hint of censure. _

"_Just like your enemies upstairs, you forget that every significant act generally has more than one motive."_

"_Well, you're quite the schemer, I'll give you that," a smirk, "Very well, you can count yourself forgiven for conspiring to overthrow my rule. Though I highly doubt that you've expected to end that far up the ladder when planning all this."_

_A thoughtful look._

"_All's well that ends well."_

_A chuckle._

"_Have you visited your beloved yet?"_

_A negative head shake._

"_How so? Afraid he'll kick you out? I bet he's dying to know what was that all about."_

"_Stop taunting me."_

"_Don't chicken out now! I bless you on behalf of all Hell. In the worst case I can help you nurse your wounded soul."_

"_That's encouraging," gloomily, "But let's get back to business…"_

***

I appear in John's apartment without prior notice. Actually, I considered ringing the doorbell but was stopped by fear that he will simply refuse to see me. So I just soundlessly materialize in the middle of the room – the only one in his apartment.

It's my first time here: in the past I was deterred by protective symbols on doors and windows. I must admit, this room begs for a serious makeover. But that's not the point.

John sits at the table engrossed in contemplation of a cigarette pack.

"Going to start again?"

In curing him of cancer Luc made him an unexpected gift and it would be regrettable if he were to take up the old habit.

"Balthazar?" he asks, dumbfounded. I didn't disguise myself with the standard half-breed mask, but he still recognizes me. It warms me inside. "What are you doing here?" his voice turns form simply surprised to slightly angered and a bit sarcastic. "Banished from Hell for bad behaviour?"

"Something like that…" I smirk and concentrate on my appearance.

Three pairs of wings soundlessly unfurl behind my back. John, who jumped up from his chair when I appeared, drops back in astonishment.

"Is it some kind of a joke?" he asks faintly.

"Unfortunately, no," a fake a sigh, glancing over my shoulder. "It's not a prank or delusion either."

"But… how can this be possible?"

"John, John, John," I shake my head, lowering myself on the edge of the table, "can you really not guess what happened? If angels can Fall, what can demons do?"

"Rise?" he involuntarily answers my rhetoric question.

"Exactly," I exclaim.

He frowns, trying to absorb this revelation. Snakes his hands into his hair and looks suspiciously at me.

"But why?"

I raise my brows. Recently I orchestrated only one prominent event, so he doesn't need long to connect the dots.

"Are you serious?" he exclaims, full of indignation. "For this nightmare I suffered through you are promoted from demon to angel? Is God completely nuts?"

"Don't blaspheme, dear," I say gently without a hint of reproach. "Why do you think Gabriel had fallen?" his face reflects irritation at a seemingly random topic change, but he is already used to my style of conversing.

"Because of conspiracy with Hell and planning of Apocalypse."

"Wrong. You forget, He judges motives before actions. Gabriel in his pride dared to pronounce himself the judge and executioner. He dared to decide for God who is worthy of entering His kingdom."

John shifts his gaze from me to the worn tabletop in contemplation.

"And what was your motive?" he asks softly.

"I wanted to save you," I answer, lowering to my knees before his chair. It's a position that affords me to look into his eyes.

"By killing millions of others?"

"Do you know how Heaven judges the significance of an act?" I again ask a 'theoretical' question and continue without waiting for an answer, "By its divergence from the common pattern."

"Oh?" he mutters doubtfully, still not looking at me. "And what's your usual behaviour when meeting exorcists condemned to Hell?"

"Why so skeptical? Your situation is not so unique as some would like it to be," I remember other exhausted boys who tried to run away from monsters only to end in a place containing nothing else. "I haven't lifted a finger for any of them."

"What would have been your punishment for conspiracy with Mammon?" he asks carefully, shifting his gaze from the table to my shoulder. "Or did you plan on moving up the ladder from the very beginning?"

"Did _you_ plan on absolution when you slit your wrists to summon Lucifer? Or when you asked for the soul of a stranger?" his eyes finally meet mine and I drown in a familiar mix of hope and hopelessness. "That is the point," I murmur, mesmerized. "I only wanted to save you. What would happen to me didn't matter at all."

"Why?" he whispers.

The question I've heard so often seems to echo in the air. And this time I'm going to answer.

"Because you are more precious to me than my life. Because you _are_ my life." His eyes reflect understanding mixed with pleasure he's unable to hide. "Do you know that angels can't survive the destruction of their Heaven even though they can renounce it willingly? _You_ are my new Heaven, John."

"You say such strange things," he says wonderingly. I smile.

"It's an angelic concept. I guess to humans it sounds rather weird." Luc had probably seen this the second I've come to him and that's why he wasn't really angry. He possesses an unparalleled ability to see the very essence of things. "To be simple, I love you and I was ready to suffer centuries of torture to ensure your safety. I made Mammon swear he wouldn't let your soul enter Hell," I explain.

"You love me?" he repeats in a small voice.

"My Light, the feelings I have for you can not be described with silly human words," his face shines with fragile timid hope and I'm flooded with desire to hold him and shield him forever from all the horrors that fill his life. "You are my Heaven, without you I will simply cease to exist. So the reason for my sacrifice was purely selfish, though Heaven obviously haven't uncovered this fact," I conclude with a triumphant smirk.

"But in the end your plan failed," John notes doubtfully. "Mammon returned to Hell, and all his vows are now void."

"Oh, but, you see, I've never really counted on him succeeding." My poor John, I confuse him again just when things began to clear up. "I knew you wouldn't be able to step aside from approaching Apocalypse. I figured they'll be obliged to grant you a place of honour in Heaven for saving the world."

"But what if someone else saved it?"

"I haven't noticed a line of eager contenders," I point out sarcastically.

"But your reasoning still seems faulty," he mumbles.

"It still worked in the end!" I conclude with an arrogance of a newly Risen angel.

John looks at me with a mixture of amusement and astonishment, and shakes his head disapprovingly. We could discuss this as long as he liked and I still wouldn't be able to explain why I was so sure of the favourable outcome. Such things are not known, they are simply felt. And feelings - unlike knowledge - cannot be passed though words.

It appears he too understands how pointless it is to discuss it further.

"Very well. Suppose I believe you. What do you want now?" he asks.

I study him. The trials he suffered through left their trace on him. Their reflection is practically nonexistent in his features, but I sense a deep weariness and detachment. As if there is nothing worth living for now, when his life is finally unobstructed.

"I want…" I straiten up, still kneeling on the floor, "for you to let me in again. Open your Gates for me. Accept me back."

He gingerly lowers himself next to me.

"Why?"

"So I can cherish and protect you forever," I put my hands on his shoulders and slowly pull him to me, "No evil will touch you again, John. I will not surrender you to anyone."

His eyes, where hope is not darkened by doubts, are sufficient answer to me. I cradle his face in my palms and touch his lips with mine.

This kiss is unlike any we've shared before. It is not bound by secrets, misgivings, threats or fears. It's fresh and resonant like a clear spring, and I drink it from my John's lips in an unquenchable thirst. All three pairs of my wings are closed around us, and in this little world there are only I and my Heaven, opening it's gates invitingly. As it should be.

"Wait," John whispers, putting a restraining hand on my chest, "wait."

His breath is laboured, his eyes glazed, but he obviously thinks our talk isn't over yet. With a mental shrug I pick him up easily and place him on his bed. It's probably not the best place for conversations, but it's the only one where I can sit comfortably and embrace John at the same time.

"What is it?" I ask.

"We can't… I can't…" he threads his fingers through his hair crossly, "You should understand: I've only just got a chance at avoiding Hell. I cannot lose it again, even for…"

I finally grasp the essence of the problem.

"John, calm down," I squeeze him a bit more firmly and turn his face to me. "Your love for me, whatever form it takes, cannot be considered a sin."

"But… to lay with a man…"

"You forget," I smile, "that I'm not a man. I'm an angel – a creature incompatible with sin by definition."

He laughs.

"Sorry, but it's still hard for me to believe that."

"It's all right, we'll both get used to it eventually. But as for your objection. If you are afraid that the feeling that let me Rise will be the reason for your Fall, I will not insist on it's physical consummation."

"You are always waiting for me to make a choice," he says, and his hand finds its way to my cheek. "Aren't you afraid that it will not be in your favour?"

"The only decision you could have made against me is over already. I can and I will wait as long as you need. To the brink of death and beyond, we are linked forever."

"All right," he mouths, and his hand slides down my neck, to my chest and stops at the waist. "I don't know why, but I trust you. In everything."

And he lowers himself, pulling me with him.

I'm overwhelmed by tenderness and awe at his courage that allowed him to surrender to me completely. And this time I'm not constrained by the thought of what must be done to ensure the safety of my Heaven. My touches are unhurried and full of reverence. His fingers tangle in my hair, and a whisper of my name sometimes leaves his lips. His body, eager and responsive, burns under my lips, and his soul shines brighter and clearer than ever.

There can't be greater perfection in my eyes. All three pairs of my wings are stretched above us, hiding from any glances that which belongs from now on only to me.

Finally, all is as it should be.

***

"You've said that I am your Heaven." We lay together in John's bed. In any other circumstance I would have considered it too narrow and uncomfortable, but at this time I don't care for anything apart form the slender form in my arms. "But how can that be?" John continues his musings. "Isn't Heaven supposed to be a certain place? A separate world?"

"You are right, after a fashion," I murmur into his hair. "But do you not know that every person creates their own universe by simply being? All your feelings, emotions, thoughts, experiences create a world of their own, as infinite as the one you live in."

"It is just a metaphor," he objects, turning his head from where it rests on my chest to look at me. "You are supposed to be able to actually enter Heaven. How can you even begin to find an entrance to my completely metaphysical inner world?"

"In spite of your conviction, the world created by your consciousness is not that much different from the conventional Heaven. Can you actually find an entrance into Paradise in the material world that surrounds us now?" I gently tease. John frowns, trying to come up with a irrefutable difference. "And as for entering it," I continue, "I can actually do it, though I must admit I much prefer the other kind of entering, to our mutual satisfaction."

The exorcist sputters indignantly at my innuendo, but he is sufficiently distracted from esoteric questions.

"What are you going to do when I die?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, since I am your Heaven…" John trails off.

"My Light, you should know better than others that death is not an end of everything. Our connection transcends any material bounds and your death will not be an obstacle. With it you will simply become more beautiful and pure."

"Hey, slow down on the compliments," he chuckles, "or you'll be violating that commandment about creating idols."

"Are you going to turn me in?" I inquire in a mock-frightened tone, tightening my hold on him. "I have a lot of plans for the time you finally join me in Paradise."

"Plans?" he asks, confused. "What kind?"

"Don't you worry about it now," I brush an errant strand of hair from his forehead. "I promise, they don't include anything even remotely apocalyptic. You have whole life ahead of you - or rather a decent part of it that is not darkened by personal afterlife problems – so enjoy it to the fullest."

"And what will you be doing while I'm enjoying it?"

"I'll be playing a good little angel and make regular appearances to you. Strictly to guide you on the path of righteousness, of course."

My John laughs. It is a first time I hear a laugh like this: joyous and free, untainted by even a hint of sadness. Unable to restrain myself, I join my lips to his, and lap at the remnants of his laughter as they morph into a moan of pleasure.

***

"_Welcome to Heaven!" A blinding smile. "I suppose you've seen the Gates already, but now you've got the chance to enjoy this experience fully!"_

"_Isn't there supposed to be another person greeting me?" a suspicious narrowing of gray eyes._

"_Generally yes, but I've called in some favours…"_

"_You're impossible!" an exasperated head-shake. "However do you keep your wings?"_

"_Oh, I can be quite useful in dealings with Hell, so my little eccentricities are mostly tolerated." _

"_Thank you," much more seriously and quietly. "Despite everything you've said over the years, I've still had my doubts…"_

"_Hush. You belong here, and no one is going to argue with it. So you should calm down and relax while I show you all the best attractions of this place." A slight pause. "But first we are going to meet a certain angel."_

"_What for?" confusion is mixed with curiosity._

"_You see, I've decided awhile back that he needs a new feather-cut."_

"_Feather-cut?"_

"_M-hm, I'm going to pluck all his feathers out," pleasantly and almost lovingly. "It's the least he deserves for everything that's happened to you," in an answer to a perplexed stare. "But I suppose I could thank him, while I'm at it."_

"_Oh, do you mean my guardian angel?" a spark of comprehension._

"_Ex-guardian angel," tartly._

"_Of course," a light laugh. "Lead on. I'm suddenly in a very vengeful mood."_

***

_A/N: Well, this is it. _

_I hope, you've enjoyed reading my story as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and I hope you'll share your opinion with me._

_I'm actually proud of myself: this is the first story that I've wrote in English (or rather, translated, but since no one have actually seen it in Russian…)_

_I don't think I'll be writing anything else in this fandom, but I have some sketches for Harry Potter and Batman, so if you like my writing, please drop a word so I can (maybe) work harder on them :P_

_Thank you again for appreciation._

_**Kjollar**__._


End file.
